Of Hobbits and Dragons
by treesliketorches
Summary: The threat of Morgoth's beasts to Middle Earth is rising. A keeper of Arda feels a shift in the wind - as does the grey wizard. Whilst tracking a company of 14 silently upon Gandalf's request, Ferelith's exposure to the group lands her a contract. A contract for the Quest of Erebor, and the reclamation of the Durin's sons homeland... alongside the demise of an old enemy.
1. Chapter 1

"I should not count on outside help. Survival had to come from me." **Yann Martel**

* * *

TA 2436

' _Alok_ '

The word gently reverberated around her skull, the soft vibration rippling through the silence. She lay there unmoving, with limbs heavy and cold. Her eyes remained closed, yet she knew what surrounded her - a blinding white light, with no edges or curves, engulfing her like an ocean.

' _Ah-lokk'_

It emerged through the vacuum once more, this time louder and more demanding. In response, Ferelith felt her fingers twitch – or rather, she imagined they had moved. Frustration built as she concentrated on the feeling of movement, willing her extremities to flutter once more. Abandoning this after a few more futile struggles, she attempted the more simple gesture of opening her eyelids.

Struggling against the waves of light, they flickered open, causing her face wincing slightly as the light blinded her. Waiting for the moment to pass, she maintained a heavy lidded gaze to allow for adjustment. Confusion arose as she studied the view in front of her, no longer the white abyss she had initially noted. No, this new landscape had the ragged lines of towering landmasses, followed by the sharp horizon where grey sky met pale earth – new sights for eyes, but a familiar image to her mind.

' _Alok, kendov'_

The rumblings pulled Ferelith into focus with a new surge of energy. She felt a tingling in her calves and forearm, and steadily persuaded her limbs to move. Pushing herself onto her elbows, grunting as her muscles protested, Lith assessed her surroundings. A steady stream of snow had begun to fall a few leagues in front of her across the open tundra, and a breeze against her check announced the cold it would soon be upon her.

As her mind began to process thoughts and feelings, a more innate behaviour for survival kicked in.

Warmth. Find a source of heat.

With further sounds of discomfort escaping her mouth, she moved her legs beneath her and slowly rose. Trembling like a new born lamb, not only from the sudden movement but the sudden chill that had taken over, she began to mechanically place one foot in front the other whilst turning her back to the increasingly present storm that fumed in the distance. Her thin tunic did nothing to shield her from the freezing elements, so Ferelith wrapped her hands across her chest in a fruitless attempt to keep her core warm. Sighing at her discomfort, she trudged forward with the hastening breeze, as though it was there to guide her through the frozen wasteland.

No noise could be heard, save for the crunching of her boots against the permafrost, and no inkling of life could be seen I front of her. Regardless, her eyes remained peeled and ears sharp, listening for the smallest of whispers or the slightest of movements. For, alone in this frozen abyss, she was exposed and deadly vulnerable. And she did not like it one bit.

' _Rovaan, kendov_ '

The low rumblings filled the landscape, and the breeze changed direction. Turning to her right, Ferelith continued, the air wrapping itself around her, provoking and encouraging her forward.

She continued on for what felt like an age. Her feet had become sore, and her fingers numb. Each inhalation was painful, the frigid air causing a burning sensation on the back of her throat. She stumbled slightly as her energy slowly began to waver, as though the land was absorbing very heat from within. Regaining her balance only to stumble once more, Ferelith fell to her knees shuddering. She was too far away from shelter, too far away to survive this savage climate for much longer. She collapsed to her side and curled her knees into her chest, attempting to contain any remaining warmth. The gentle breeze had abandoned her, only to be replaced by unrelenting gusts that cut through her body. Closing her eyes tightly, she lay listening to the howls of the wind.

As she pulled her legs closer to her chest, her eyes shot open. A cry had mingled with the howling; it had been almost undetectable. Straining her eyes, she looked into the direction in had originated from – only to see nothing but the dancing snowflakes the cascaded from the melancholy sky. She listened intently once more, praying it would reach her once more.

"Something's out there!"

Her ears had not fooled her. Though she could not see the owner of the voice, a warmth spread through her core, a slimmer of hope daring to break through. Steadily, a dark silhouette emerged from the dense curtain of snow. He halted as he drew close to Ferelith's side, turning behind him and yelling once more.

"Geth! 'Urry!"

Returning his attention to her, the man slowly reached out and gently placed a fur skin around her side. It swamped her torso in warmth, halting the blasts of cold that chipped away at her body. Briefly closing her eyes in remission, she opened them once more as a second figure emerged.

Panting, Geth dropped his hands to his knees, drawing deep breaths to level his breathing. It was not until he looked up that he saw Baldor knelt down next to… well, he didn't quite know.

Wide eyed, Baldor turned around to his companion. Geth's eyebrows rose from underneath his hat in bewilderment as he slowly understood what the object was.

"He's frozen through, Geth. It's a surprise he's still alive – Tulkas protect 'im. Blessed soul. We cannot leave him here to wither away." His voice was partially dragged off by the wind, the storm demanding to make its presence known.

A human. In the wastelands of Arthedain. Alone. Lost. Geth drew his brows together, and knelt beside Baldor. He removed another pelt from his pack to cover the exposed feet, watching in awe as the shuddering body struggled to survive.

"We're less than 17 leagues away from the village. Do you reckon he'll last that long?" Geth asked, doubtful of the prospects for this lone nomad.

Baldor moved closer to Ferelith, adjusting the furs. He sighed, his mind trying to assess the situation. "I think... I think that we should try. Many have perished before, but a few 'ave survived this long. If we can get 'im back to Kilnor, we'll leave 'im in the hands of Dernwyn."

Nodding in agreement, glad they would return home sooner than expected, Geth silently turned and walked away – it was not every hunting trip they discovered a wanderer in their unrelenting homeland. As he approached the silent wolves, he yanked the metal peg out of the ground, freeing the sledge. Walking on foot beside the pack, Geth led their transport back to Baldor.

The hunters had only been half a league away when Baldor had let out a cry, his arm pointing to the distance. Geth squinted, but saw nothing, save for Bald halting the wolves and sprinting off. Sighing at his recklessness, Geth was left to calm the wolves and tie them down along with the sledge, preventing them from running off. Once satisfied, he had tracked his partner's footsteps into the swirling storm, only to come across him crouched beside what looked like a corpse. A here they were, returning a barely living body to their village.

Halting the wolves nearby and swinging the sledge around, Geth motioned to Baldor that the sledge was ready for its new load. Both men approached the pile of fur and crouched down either side, tucking their arms underneath without removing the barrier Ferelith had against the cold. Grunting, she felt two strong pairs of arms lift her up momentarily, only to set her back down upon the hard wooden luge. She rolled to her side, embedding herself further into the comfort of the pelts, whilst the two men mounted the sled behind her. Drowsy and on the verge of consciousness, Lith heard a soft clicking from who she assumed was Baldor, and the ground beneath her suddenly lurched forwards. After a few moments, she shut her eyes, letting the gentle tumble of the sledge's movement over the ground and pounding of feet lull her into a welcoming escape. Sighing one last time, she gave into the darkness which swallowed her consciousness whole.

* * *

 **Aha! You made it through the word sludge! I guess now is as best time as ever to briefly introduced this story. After relying on Tolkien's world to help me through exam season, I began to form my own take on the Hobbit and interpreting characters, or adjusting the story to my own taste. Hence, these thoughts began to come together, and so after months of delaying the process, I put pen to paper – or rather, fingers to keyboard.**

 **I hope you have enjoyed this taster so far, and would be so kind as to leave a review or even favourite/follow! Updates will rather few over the next few weeks, but will pick up into weekly updates at the beginning of July.**

 **Again, many thanks. Everything is open to constructive criticism and queries.**

 **-treesliketorches**

Translations:

 **Thu'um**  
 _Alok_ \- Rise  
 _Kendov_ \- Warrior  
 _Rovaan_ \- Wander


	2. Chapter 2

"Meeting you was my favourite accident." **Unknown.**

* * *

TA 2941

He approached the distraught building, its exterior as worn and ragged as he felt. The deep umber coloured paintwork surrounding the crumbling brickwork had begun to peel, and much of the archway was dominated by mould. Despite the windows remaining shut, the murmuring of voices escaped into the otherwise silent night through the poorly fitting seals, the shouts of laughter carrying into the night, the hubbub of life a stark contrast to the desolate atmosphere outside the warm tavern. Smoke coloured windows allowed a faint glimmer of light to pierce through the darkness, acting as a beacon to wanderers, drawing them in like a moth to a flame. The orange glow offered the promise of warmth and food, something the solitary traveller sought after dearly.

Ever since his meeting with the Grey Wizard three months previously in Ered Luin, Thorin had been in constant turmoil over the offer proposed to him. Life in the Blue Mountains was relatively peaceful and progressively prosperous, despite the lack of gold ore – yet, iron and silver could be mined in abundance, and the exiles of Erebor had steadily begun to rebuild their lives. The years of effort and investment, alongside the initial struggles, had begun to pay off – Ered Luin was once more becoming a major trade partner with the other Dwarven Clans, providing the prospect of permanent accommodation for the Dwarves.

Thorin had a restlessness to him. It was as though he had an itch he could not scratch, no matter how desperately he tried. The longing he felt to return once more to the Lonely Mountain, to his home and birth right, his _people's_ home and birth right, had only grown since his departure from Ered Luin. No longer distracted by meetings with councillors or the involvement with royal politics, his journey to the west had given Thorin time to truly breathe and mourn the loss of not only Erebor itself, but his forefathers too. The weight of his burden had only increased during this period of self-driven depravation – and so, on a dark and unusually cold spring night in a town of men, the King-in-exile found himself hidden away, his silence deafening to those around him. His journey would have to come to a halt for the night; it would be at dawn that he would ride even further west, in search of his kin and burglar. Yet, despite the brief comfort brought on by the thought of his sisters-sons and old friends, the wizard's words still penetrated his brooding mind; " _The Dragon of Erebor is on my mind, and I do not think that he will be forgotten by the grandson of Thror_."

* * *

With a murmur of thanks, the otherwise silent figure withdrew their arrow from the deer's chest cleanly, tucking it away for future use. The hide has been easy to pierce, not only allowing for a clean and quick death, but for the arrows tip to retain its form for reuse; it had become difficult north of Hardbottle to find a fletcher who had the skills to equip the mithril bow. Hence, the preservation of weapons had become important – if the hunter was going to keep on hunting, precautions were needed.

Returning to her makeshift camp with the doe slung on her shoulder, Ferelith went about harvesting the goods from the animal. Over the fire, meat was being cooked to both eat and salt, as she doubted the provinces of the Shire could supply her with any long-term 'travel' sustenance – after an encounter with a rather brash Hobbit from her first visit, the term adventure was not one to be used near, in or around these peaceful lands. And so, keep the peace she did – Ferelith maintained a low and passive profile, only passing through the Shire when she needed to. Or rather, in this case, when she was requested.

As the smoke slowly puffed into the sky, dancing with the stars as it dissipated, Lith began to neatly take down her temporary camp, ensuring her presence was erased from the clearing. Fear she did not of wild animals, such as the occasional bear or wolf, but for the threat of orcs in the lowlands. Seemingly, even this far West and despite the passing of both the Long and Fell Winters, the howls of White Wolves could be heard with an easterly breeze. Hence, Ferelith had since returned to the Shire multiple times during her travels, ensuring the peace the Hobbits so dearly valued remained so.

With the last of the fire gone, and deer carcass disposed of, the woman saddled her steed from a nearby maple tree and mounted. Dawn had just begun to pierce through the veil of stars above her and so she began her final leg of the journey towards the outskirts of the Shire. If she was to arrive at Bag End by nightfall and not exhaust her chestnut mare, her departure began in the early hours. She only hoped not to cross Mithrandir along the way – at least in the presence of her host, he would not question her so vividly over her recent escapades. Until their brief meeting in Bree, Ferelith had not seen her old friend for many moons, and it was unnerving for him to request her in such a peaceful land. Yet, with the mention of Smaug, she was drawn into his scheming mind and had agreed to meet him at the address of Baggins, descendent of Bullroarer Took. She smiled at the memory of when she had first met young Bilbo – a young Hobbit, not even seven years old. His bright eyes and curly hair, bouncing as he danced around his mother, Belladonna. Underhill held a special place in her heart, for she had admired the Tookish streak of the Baggins family for many years.

With a shake of her head and smile, she gently nudged her mare forward towards Bag End. It was to be a long day for Master Baggins, as it was for all those intent on making their way to his soon-to-be not so humble abode.

* * *

In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, nor bare or sandy hole, but it was a hobbit-hole; and that means comfort. The perfectly shaped round door was guarded by a garden of flowers, full of primroses and begonias, azaleas and geraniums. Bilbo Baggins, son of the distinguished Belladonna Took and Bungo Baggins, boasted the most hobbity hobbit-hole of them all; his respected home situated under The Hill was the most glorious for miles around. Not only did his home stand in good stead with the hobbits of Hobbiton, but his family name too – no Baggins member sought after any adventures, no matter how great the promise of food, thank you very much. They were quite content smoking Old Toby and indulging themselves in second dinners whenever appropriate. And it was on this fine spring morning that Bilbo Baggins found himself enjoying the fresh morning air, sat on his oak bench in front of the kitchen window, perfecting his smoke rings.  
Bees happily buzzed around him from flower to flower – for Bilbo was proud of his gardening efforts – whilst a gentle breeze whisked the smoke away. Humming gently with an air of content, little did the unsuspecting hobbit realise that his morning would soon become eventful.

His rounded hobbit ears heard the old man's approach before he could see him. A rather merry tune floated around the corner, but one Bilbo had not heard before. Nevertheless, he tapped his feet in rhythm tune, awaiting the arrival of a seemingly jolly hobbit – it was a pleasant enough morning to bestow good wishes upon one another.

To Bilbo's surprise, a man in a pointed hat was strolling around the corner. Regardless, respected hobbits wished a good morning to all passer-by's, no matter how odd they may seem.

"Good morning!" said Bilbo, smiling cheerily at the bearded fellow. Upon closer inspection, the walker had silver blue eyes that were just about visible from under long, bushy eyebrows that stuck out from the brim of his shady hat. His clothes were well worn, and he stood with a rather peculiar walking stick - rather more like a staff, Bilbo noted - that towered over the height of Bilbo, even when standing up.

The wizard raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or do you feel good this morning; or are you simply stating that it is a morning to be good on?" A smile played on his lips. Not that the poor hobbit noticed.

Bilbo's pipe had been forgotten as he slowly lowered his hand. Some Old Toby tumbled from the bowl of the hobbit's pipe, landing gently on his bright green trousers. A slight splutter emerged from his lips, before he frowned and looked up to the wizard once more. The old man sensed his lapse in thinking, noting Bilbo's dumbfounded look, and so quirked up his other eyebrow, prompting a response from the stunned hobbit. "Er. I, er, I suppose all of them at once" Bilbo stammered.

The smile on Gandalf's face fell. His eyebrows knitted together, and he felt like rubbing his face – this was not the son of Belladonna he remembered. A light groan rumbled inside of him; he had hoped for a rather more interesting reply from the halfing. His initial ambitions for young Bilbo suddenly seemed very large, so large for such a small fellow.

"Can I help you?" inquired Bilbo, interrupting the wizard's thoughts, and wanting to return indoors as swiftly as he could. This morning was not as enjoyable as he had first thought.

The crumpled look on Gandalf's face did not unravel - rather, it became more intense as he studied the hobbit.

"That remains to be seen."

* * *

 **So, everyone is beginning to slowly follow their separate paths to unite under on roof - or rather, one specific hobbit hole. Rather short update as another chapter is in the works, and hopefully a larger update is to come. If there are any spelling or grammar mistakes, be sure to let me know; though I re-read each chapter, I have a tendency to skim over small errors.**

 **Until we next meet again!**

 **-treesliketorches**


	3. Chapter 3

"If you've never experienced the joy of accomplishing more than you can imagine, plant a garden." **Robert Brault**

* * *

TA 2941

Bilbo's hand wavered slightly as he brought the fine porcelain cup to his mouth. The chamomile tea inside sloshed gently against the sides of the cup, a few droplets flying out and landing on the saucer held in his other hand, equally as wobbly. Here he was, the regarded Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, shaking in the presence of a grey robed wizard. Adventure! The sheer thought of that sour word had turned Bilbo into a blathering mess earlier that day, intent on returning to his hobbit hole, politely fleeing the wizard's intentions.

* * *

 _"I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure" Gandalf said. The frown upon his face eased slightly, with hopes of enticing the halfing into his plans – not that he needed to know the details, of course. He raised is eyebrows slightly, offering a promising look to Bilbo._

 _Bilbo on the other hand, drew his eyebrows together and dropped his pipe further. He had most definitely not expected that to come from the wizard. He shuffled slightly on the bench, bringing himself up to full sitting height. Peering up at the wizard once more, Bilbo realised something – Gandalf must have mistaken him for someone else. Most big folk often overlooked the unique features between smaller folk. Yes, that was definitely it. He had gotten the wrong hobbit._

 _Tilting his head and smiling smugly, Bilbo replied "Ah, Mister Gandalf, see here – I don't imagine anyone west of Bree would have much interest in adventures." His pipe returned to his mouth for a final deep breath. Inhaling soundlessly and exhaling with a soft blow of smoke, he then stood and dusted off his trousers. "Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things" Bilbo said, walking over to the letterbox, noting the flag was up. Firmly pulling down the flap and removing the envelopes, he began to shuffle through the post. "Make you late for dinner" he added in further reply to Gandalf, who he noted, rather worryingly, had not yet responded. It was then he decided that retuning to the safety of his home would probably be the best approach to ending this increasingly awkward encounter, and so Bilbo began to backtrack up the smooth steps to his rounded door. "Good morning to you" he said with a tone of finality. And with that, he turned his back on the wizard and hastily trundled towards his escape._

 _"To think that I should have lived to be good-morninged by Belladonna Took's son, as if I were selling buttons at the door!"_

 _Bilbo paused. His frown had disappeared for a few seconds, only to return as he turned slowly to face the wizard. His mouth once more slightly open at the shock of the old man's words. "I beg your pardon?" he enquired._

 _Gandalf sighed. He had hoped the young Baggins had not become too soft and comfortable in his ways after so many years of peace. "You've changed and not for the better, Bilbo Baggins."_

 _The hobbit blinked a few times, then pointed his pipe accusingly at Gandalf. By this point, the powder had gone cold, resulting in a crumbled pile of wasted Old Toby. Bilbo was now not just slightly annoyed at his morning's disturbance, but beginning to grow slightly concerned too, growing cold towards the wizard's sudden appearance. How did this grey-clothed man know of his mother? "I'm sorry, but do I know you?" He asked rather angrily._

 _Gandalf inwardly sighed once more. "Well, you know my name, though you do not remember that I belong to it. I'm Gandalf and Gandalf means… me" he finished rather sheepishly. This conversation had not gone according to plan, not at all._

 _Lowering his pipe away from the newly revealed stranger, Bilbo's eyes lit up in recognition, his negative attitude towards the wizard gone in a moment. Many a year ago, he remembered kind blue eyes that were as bright as the fireworks themselves – Gandalf the Wandering Wizard! "Not the Gandalf who made such excellent fireworks! Old Took used to have them each midsummer's eve!" At this, the grey-robed man smiled fondly. Perhaps the hobbit had not changed as much as he feared._

 _Bilbo cleared his throat at his sudden exposure of excitement. This man had, still, ruined his perfectly good morning. "No idea you were still in business" he added._

 _This time, Gandalf audibly groaned. Bilbo raised his eyebrow. "And, pray tell, where else should I be?" he narrowed his eyes, causing Bilbo to backtrack up yet another step._

 _Stopping, Bilbo simply cleared his throat and glanced down at the letters once more. Gandalf noticed the confused face on the halfing and softened once more. "Well, I'm glad that you remember something about me at least." He offered a kind smile to the hobbit as he looked up from his hands fumbling with the post. "Even if it's only my fireworks... Hmph. That's decided. It'll be very good for you" he paused, his smile growing wider "and most amusing for me. I shall inform the others." With a chuckle, he began to find his way down the hobbit's path towards the front gate._

 _Bilbo's eyes widened. "In.. inform the who?" he stammered questioningly. "What? No, no! No. Wait." The hobbit turned and jogged up the remaining steps to his door. As he faced the wizard once more, he extended his arm, and pipe, accusingly as he continued to process Gandalf's words. "We do not want any adventures here, thank you, not today, nor tomorrow, no the day after that. I suggest you try over the hill or… or across the water." He paused whilst resting his hand on the door, determined to be rid of the wandering man. "Good morning." And with that, he, rather hastily, pushed the green door open and quickly shut it behind him._

* * *

Looking up from the cooling tea, freshly made but still untouched by Bilbo's parched mouth, the young hobbit's eyes scaled the person sat opposite him. Whilst situated in his cushioned arm chair, made from goose feathers and soft, plum coloured velvet, his eyes indulged themselves in assessing this stranger. The individual was far taller than him, yet still two heads smaller than Gandalf. They clad themselves in dark maroon coloured leather, from boots to gloves, intricate patterns of vines and trees embedded softly all over the attire. A thick looking cloak covered their main bodice obscuring the figure, the bottom well-worn and beginning to fray. It had become slightly faded, the dark, almost black, green fading into a musky coloured brown, indicating that this was no simple traveller. Soft green eyes assessed him quietly from the inside of the cloak, challenging Bilbo's gaze playfully. Though considered rude, Bilbo had not gestured, nor intended to mention, to the stranger to remove their hood – if anything, he became blustered and blushed each time he made eye contact.

This was most definitely not how he expected his day to go. First, an unexpected appearance from a long-forgotten wizard, shortly followed by his departure - only for Gandalf to reappear merely two hours later! Despite Bilbo's best intentions of ignoring the grey wizard as he banged upon the brass door knob, he reluctantly answered after dropping a tea cup which smashed upon the hobbit's tiled floor, the sheer stress of such impending intrusion causing him to have shaking fits. And, and to top all of this, the old man had seen it fit to invite the dark clothed stranger inside the hobbit's home too! Did he not only have to play host to one unwanted guest, but two.

He prayed the Sackville-Bagginses had not caught wind of strangers to-ing and fro-ing from Bilbo's home. Lobelia would only end up branding Bilbo as disturber of the peace, and hence make him a temporary outcast from hobbit society – it was not the first time his cousin had made such accusations, and Bilbo was adamant she would not do so again.

So, here the plump hobbit sat, playing the courteous host. And a host cannot entertain if there is no conversation, Bilbo thought to himself. Gathering his courage and placing down his fine china on the nearby cabinet, Bilbo was determined to confront Gandalf. Yet, his mouth had other ideas.

"Fine day for a bit of, er, gardening, isn't it?" the young hobbit questioned, the words rushing out of his mouth. He then inwardly cringed, his voice far too loud in the crisp silence. A few seconds passed by before he received a response.

"Indeed it is quite fine Master Baggins, for the sun seems to be doing your orchids the world of good. I have to say I'm rather envious of such a gardening feat, as even with the rich Shire soil, it is a rarity to see such beauty this far east. You seem to have quite a knack for growing in the most unlikely of places." The cloaked figure, who had lowered her hood, smiled kindly towards the hobbit with a hint of amusement in her eyes. Her left eyebrow raised slowly as Bilbo spluttered a response to his now not-so-mute guest.

"I, er, why thank you, Miss. I have to say it took me many attempts and a great deal of patience to get them to take" Bilbo replied, blushing slightly. "Not many appreciate how difficult it is to grow such delicate, fussy plants."

Gandalf chuckled lightly at the hobbit, and at his companion for that matter. Only she would attempt to gain a hobbit's approval by commenting on their gardening skills.

Bilbo smiled to himself, sipping once more at his tea. The woman had not only admired his garden, but complimented his efforts too. With the initial tension broken, he felt far more at ease. "So Miss, may I ask what you preferred to be called? Gandalf has obviously told you mine, and I don't wish to be rude by calling you 'Miss' all afternoon." The hobbit felt confident enough to make eye contact with the stranger, and did so, directing his question at her. He felt of a jolt of recognition run through him as he connected with the forest green eyes, both questioning and reserved, defensive but with a hint of kindness. Just as she opened her mouth to reply, Gandalf jumped in.

"Ah, it seems I have completely forgotten the simple task of introductions. Bilbo Baggins, meet Miss Fenella, a close friend of mine. We have faced many adventures over the stretch of many years." He smiled first at Bilbo, then at Lith.

"Many forgo the formalities Bilbo, and friends call me Fen." Gandalf inwardly sighed in relief at her response to his sudden interruption. He was thankful she still remained true to her cause. As though reading his mind, the woman in question smiled at Bilbo, and then turned towards the wizard – a dark hue briefly illuminated her irises, the soft green disappearing behind a sea of dark umber. It happened in the smallest of seconds, but Ferelith made sure Gandalf had seen.

Hm. Perhaps she was not entirely happy about the situation.

Regardless, the grey wizard continued. "Fen was just passing through, rather coincidentally actually, and I thought I best introduce her to you Bilbo. You never know, we might meet her again once on the road!" At this point, Gandalf pointedly looked towards Ferelith. She sighed. How she pitied the poor hobbit.

"'On the road'?" Bilbo questioned. "Gandalf, might I remind you that I declined your offer this morning." The sudden return to adventure talk immediately caused Bilbo to stiffen, both inwardly an out.

Gandalf's eyes widened dramatically. "Oh, of course, how silly of me! My, I had forgotten about that my dear boy – it seems my memory is playing up of late. Well at least you've met the acquaintance of Miss Fen here. She really is a superb gardener you know."

As if sensing her cue, Ferelith placed down her untouched tea besides Bilbo's empty cup, and straightened her cloak. Rising stiffly, her body not used to such comfy furnishings for prolonged periods, she turned towards Bilbo. "It was a delight to meet you in person, Master Baggins. May you enjoy the rest of your eve." Pausing, as though wanting to say more, she instead walked a few steps towards the hallway, and motioned to Gandalf. "Gandalf, I think it's best if we take our leave, no? After all, we have imposed upon our host for long enough as it is." She smiled tightly once more at Bilbo.

Returning a grateful smile, Bilbo stood up and rubbed his hands together. "Well, yes, unless we have anything else to discuss? No? Wonderful. I best be getting on with preparing dinner anyhow, before I water the rest of the gardens. It was a delight seeing you Gandalf, and making your acquaintance Miss Fen!" His words rushed quickly out of his mouth, his mind still sour at the cheek of Gandalf.

As Ferelith pulled her hood up once more, she stepped swiftly out of the rounded door into the settling dusk. At this point, Gandalf stooped low to avoid the chandelier in the hallway, and made his way to the door. Just before pulling it closed behind him, he looked back at Bilbo, who was still hovering in the entryway to the study. "Until we next meet, Master Baggins." With a knowing smile and wrinkled eyes of amusement, the wizard finally left.

Bilbo felt as though he could collapse in his chair and sleep for the next week. He rubbed his face with both hands, groaning in relief at his guest's departure. Straightening back up and rolling his shoulders, he returned to the kitchen. Dinner awaited him.

And thirteen other dwarves.

* * *

 **Slight minor adjustments to this chapter, in response to the reviews! As the reviews were quite similar, I though I'd address some of Ferelith's characteristics here - she won't be your typical cold-hearted warrior who suddenly appears out of some aggressive background, hard and bitter. She has no reason to dislike hobbits, nor be rude to them, so I won't make her grunt in replies or scowl at Bilbo. I try to make characters as realistic as possible, so she won't strictly follow the Skyrim must-haves of a dragonborn.**

 **Plus, there's more to come from her - I don't believe in outsiders suddenly falling in love, nor vice versa. But I can reassure she's no Mary Sue, who's kind to everyone then has some sort of ridiculous power and everyone loves her. If you were looking for this type of story, I'm afraid you won't find your hit here.**

 **This is also strictly only Thorin/OC.**

 **The next chapter is receiving a few minor edits, and should be up just before Christmas! Speaking of, happy holidays to you all. Thank you so much for reviewing and following, it means the world and I endeavour to take into account everyone's tastes.**

 **\- treesliketorches**


	4. Chapter 4

"Did I ever tell you what the definition of insanity is? Insanity is doing the exact same fucking thing over and over again expecting shit to change. That. Is. Crazy." **Vaas, Far Cry 3.**

* * *

TA 2941

Unbeknownst to Bilbo Baggins, who was busy in Bag End hurrying around for preparation of his dinner, a weary and increasingly frustrated traveller marched in circles around Hobbiton. For somewhere so insignificantly small - even in comparison to a village of men (and especially dwarvish halls) - it was impossible to find the wizard's bloody mark. The simple rune should have lit up any round door like a fistful of blue fireflies. His eyes had yet to see the burglar sign. Thorin gave a disgruntled sigh as he passed the horrifically bright purple door opposite a patch of daisies for the third time. Readjusting the wizard's instruction, simply stating 'follow arrows to The Hill', Thorin looked around almost angrily. It had been many months since he had seen his kin, and his mood had not lifted since his departure from meetings with Dain and the other six dwarvish envoys. Getting lost in a simpleton's lands with Gandalf's vague directions was not improving the situation. Scanning the area once more, at the side of the large communal pond, he tried to identify anything different to his last rounds.

* * *

Bilbo had always been fond of his doorbell. It made a light tinkling noise that would ricochet gently around his hobbit hole to announce the arrival of guests – planned guests, that is. So, as the hobbit sat down and began to tuck-in to his dinner, returning to his normal and relaxing routine, his was both unamused and confused at why he was interrupted by said ringing bell. He stood up quickly and rushed towards the door. His fish was going cold.

What he did not expect to see was a bald-headed dwarf standing on his doorstep. Taller than Bilbo, the intimidating figure looked the hobbit up and down. Nodding his head, his mass of intricately weaved braids moving with the gesture, he introduced himself to the stunned hobbit. "Dwalin, at your service" he said, bowing deeply without breaking eye contact.

"Uh, Bilbo Baggins at... yours?" Bilbo hastily replied. "Do we, er, know each other?"

Dwalin looked at the hobbit as he passed by. "No. But which way laddie? Is supper down here? He said there would be food, and lots of it." His deep accented voice was muffled slightly as the dwarf threw his cloak at Bilbo.

"He said?" Questioned Bilbo. "Who said?"

Receiving no reply, with Dwalin either having not heard his question, or rather choosing to ignore the halfling, the dwarf sat down by Bilbo's table and ate. Once he had finished Bilbo's intended meal, he grabbed three rock buns from the nearby windowsill and finished the remaining pot of wine. He continued to ignore the hobbit's stares of slight horror.

Bilbo was quietly melting inside. He had thought this nonsense would be gone with Gandalf – and now a dwarf had arrived. Yet another unknown guest, once more interrupting his daily routine of comfort and food. He stood up and, facing the dwarf from the opposite side of the table, confronted his intruder. In a back-handed sort of way.

"Look here, Mister Dwalin, it's not that I don't like the presence of a guest in my home. I like to host as much as the next individual does – in fact I'm rather good at it. But, I must say that, it was just that, um, I wasn't expecting compa-." Before he could finish his speech, the door rang again.

Bilbo decided there and then to have a lock put on his front gate. Alongside building a bigger fence.

Looking up from the demolished rock buns and empty wine vessel, Dwalin looked up at Bilbo with an eyebrow arched. A few moments passed without either speaking. The brief silence was broken by Dwalin's gruff but amused tone; "tha'll be the door."

Before Bilbo even reached the door handle, his rounded entrance was opened up by another dwarf – only this time, he was Bilbo's height and displayed a full head and beard of white hair. "Balin, at your service" he said in a cheerful tone. Entering Bilbo's home further, he turned and exclaimed so loud the hobbit jumped. "Oh, haha! Evening brother!"

Dwalin had since stood up and left his empty plate to explore the house. Spotting his brother, a smile emerged from under his beard. "By my beard, Balin. You're shorter and wider since last time we met."

"Wider, not shorter – and still sharp enough for the both of us I'll have you know" his sibling replied, and equally wide smile on his face. Both shared a hearty laugh whilst clapping each other on the shoulder. His hand remaining on the shorter dwarf's shoulder, Dwalin steered his brother into the kitchen, out of Bilbo's sight, the latter of whom remained glued to the tiled entranceway, mouth slightly agape.

What had he done to deserve a day like this?

* * *

Little did Thorin Oakenshield know that, sat merely metres away in a willow tree on the opposing bank, a figure laughed silently at his efforts. Despite her brief encounter with Bilbo, Ferelith had no intention of meeting the dwarves that she had been set the task of tracking – instead she opted to watch afar as they arrived, easily identifiable by their proud stature and beards, varying in height. And width in some cases. The woman chuckled to herself as she watched the poor dark haired dwarf walked in circles, his internal compass obviously broken. Her humour was further increased as she watched dwarves pass him by three levels up, but due to him facing away from his kin, Thorin had no idea they were there. It was to be a long night for all involved.

* * *

If Bilbo thought watching one dwarf devour his dinner was bad enough, watching the two siblings pull apart his pantry was even worse. He had once more attempted to get rid of them – which somehow just resulted in him apologising to the dwarves. "Apology accepted" Balin had said.

Bilbo felt his socialising skills needed sharpening, for his current efforts were wasted on the dwarves before him. At least it was just the two brothers, and Bilbo reckoned he'd make it til morning. Just about.

Only fate would have it that the doorbell rang out loudly once more. The initial tinkling that Bilbo admired so dearly had now turned into a stressful chime, a warning cry. Making his way from the kitchen, leaving Dwalin and Balin to ridicule his cheese – "riddled with mould" he'd heard them say – he took a deep breath in before opening the door. Upon opening it, he exhaled and to his embarrassment, exclaimed slightly.

Before him stood another two dwarves. One had fine blond hair, which Bilbo could see weaved down his back and his braids matched those one his face. Large beads hung from his plaited moustache. He smiled cheekily at the hobbit. The other, bearing a similar nose and facial structure, had less facial hair than even Bilbo, but had brunette hair, as intricately braided as his blond companion. His smile reached his eyes, bright and warm to the young hobbit.

"Fili and Kili, at your service" they said in unison.

"You must be Mister Boggins!" Kili, the darker haired dwarf, stated.

Not only had the dwarves gotten his name wrong, but they had appeared unannounced and unwanted too.

Bilbo had reached his limit.

"Nope! Nope! You can't come in, you've come to the wrong house." If his mother could hear him, she'd be rolling in her grave; but hospitality be damned.

Kili's face turned inwards in a state of confusion. "What? Has it been cancelled?"

"No one told us" Fili said indignantly.

Frowning in disbelief at the dwarves' questioning, Bilbo replied "cancelled? What? No, nothing's been cancelled!"

The brother's faces both immediately lit up: "that's a relief" the brunette said, the smile back on his face and pushing passed Bilbo. Fili followed him, looking Bilbo up and down as he passed. Depositing their weapons – weapons?! – and traveling gear in the entrance way, they were immediately welcomed by the older dwarves.

"C'mon lads, we need to move this one into the hallway, otherwise we'll never get everyone else in" Balin commanded as the 4 dwarves began to manoeuvre Bilbo's furniture. However, it wasn't this unconsented rearrangement that caused Bilbo to exclaim.

"Everyone?! How many more of them, of you, are there?" Being ignored once more, Bilbo's anger turned into fury. Just in time for the scream of the doorbell to hit his ears. Marching through the corridors, kicking the dwarves messy pile of cloaks further into the corner as he passed, he yelled "No! No, nobody's home!" Breathing heavily, he continued his rant. "Go away… and bother somebody else! There's far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is. If, if this is some sort of plothead's idea of a joke I can only say that is in very-" Bilbo paused to grab hold of the door handle, and flung the door open. "- very poor taste." He finished, his anger suddenly dissipating and being replaced by sheer disbelief as eight dwarves fell in through the door, forming a heap on the doormat. Behind them, still stood outside, a dark grey figure bend down. A familiar hat was placed atop his head, and his face winced slightly as he made eye contact with Bilbo. "Gandalf" the hobbit said quietly. "What have you done?"

Gandalf merely smirked.

* * *

It was not until the grey wizard had pleaded Ferelith to meet with him that she considered joining his 'quest' at all. Revealing the company's intentions to her briefly before meeting their burglar, Lith was initially shocked by his proposal. A company of thirteen, excluding her and Gandalf, travelling half way across Arda to kill a dragon? Despite being known for his ridiculous plans, it was not every day one of the Istari sought help; and, combined with a slight debt owed to Gandalf, Ferelith had agreed to help towards the quest, with the promise of a dead dragon only sweetening the deal. Despite her appreciation of such creatures, this treacherous firedrake deserved an unyieldingly painful demise. Smaug had lived long enough on this earth. He had caused enough suffering, and being present at the destruction of Dale, Ferelith had resented the drake ever since.

Distracted by an unexpected rush of fury, Ferelith was lost in her thoughts. So much so, she the leader of the company she was to track suddenly disappear over the hill, rushing his steps. Despite his fatigue Thorin's senses were still keen, and so when the sound of rambunctious singing drifted down towards the bodice of water, he started off towards its origin. A smile spread across his face, his spirits suddenly uplifted. He had never been so happy to hear Bofur's singing.

* * *

"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!

So, carefully! Carefully with the plates!"

A round of applause broke out around the table, combined with deep, hearty laughter and the slamming of cutlery. Crying out, the twelve dwarves toasted to each other, a mixture of wine and ale sloshing over the edges of over-filled goblets and tankards, splattering everywhere.

Bilbo stared breathlessly at the table in front of him, with Gandalf sat at the head, laughing with his pipe in his mouth. Every plate, spoon, fork, goblet and knife had been washed, dried and placed neatly at the centre of his dining table – with no cracks or chips in sight. He must have look mildly impressed, as the slightly tipsy hoard of dwarves surrounding him passed him a tankard of ale and cheered. Just as Bilbo went to take a sip, three heavy pounds were made upon his door.

A silence fell upon the company, only to be broken by Gandalf's solemn words. "He is here."

* * *

 **Aha! I've finally got back round to writing more, though I've been delayed due to working in retail over the Christmas period (it's crazy. Never offer to work Boxing Day... never.)**

 **Here's a another short but sweet chapter. We get little snippets of each character throughout the next few chapters, until the whole company finally meet. Sometimes I'll follow the book, sometimes the movie, but other times I will invite you into my own imagination.**

 **Hoping you all had a lovely holiday, whether is was Christmas, Pancha Ganapati, Hanukkah, and the many more multinational festivals. And, not forgetting, H** **appy belated Birthday to the one and only John Ronald Reuel Tolkien! He would have been 125 years of age.**

 **Here's to an** **amazing 2017. Stay safe all, and as always, feel free to rate, review, follow or favourite.**

 **-treesliketorches x**


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